Luciano Ligabue
77+7 - Settantasette Singoli + Sette

THE REVIEW

Released in 2020. December. 7 new tracks + 77 of his hits. 6 hours of music. Get yourself an oxygen tank because it's time for a track-by-track synopsys. As funny as possible—I’ll try.

The new tracks:

"The girl of your dreams": he still likes her, even after many years, even when she's "ironing" or "when she's in the bathroom". Then tell me that's not sexism: apparently she either irons or shits, nothing else.

"I wipe my heart with it": I wipe my ass. Also because I didn’t get anything from this song, but I’m pretty sure neither did he.

"They say that": making fun of urban legends. But he says if you dream the right dreams you could see "a lottery win or a porn queen". Clearly I’ve always dreamt badly: a long time ago, I dreamt of a minor lottery prize and my old Latin teacher, Ms. Sordelli, age unknown.

"A minute ago": I was better off, trust me.

"Human being": I'd like to belong to the animal, or plant kingdom, just not human. I mean, at least those creatures don’t know who Liga is. More oaks, fewer hominids, more black widows, fewer bipeds.

"Today I lost my house keys": but never your voice, I guess?

"Willing or Not": a duet with Elisa. Willing or not, you have to go on (here I won't be mean; I actually like this one).

The Best

"This is my life": well, Liga, live it and stop bothering us by telling us about it.

"The day of pain that one has": if you listen to 6 hours of Ligabue, forget a day of pain, you’ll be hospitalized for months. He wrote it in 1997 for a friend of his, a journalist who died. Lucky him, sometimes.

"The smell of sex": you mean, periods? Anyway, what a night, I’m good, thanks (old Gineprione saying).

"Your way": my way, I’d tell you to fuck off, dear Liga, because the 200th song dedicated to your kid would really justify the return of that saint Herod from the dead.

"What time does the world end?": as soon as R.E.M. finds out about this cover, relax, so far you’ve been lucky.

"Viva!": says he dedicated it to his wife. Then they got divorced. Well, who knew?

"Lambrusco & pop corn": it's actually better to stick to the bottle.

"American Lights": well, lights in America are beautiful, but so are the ones in Paris, or certain sunsets in Rome, or those sunrises that catch you by surprise in Barcelona. Oh, the song’s about a love story? Sorry, I thought Liga would write something original in 30 years, my bad (Alessandro Bett docet).

"What do you want it to be": nothing, really, 6 hours down the drain.

"Search in your heart": this must have been "requested" by the Italian Cardiologists Association. Search inside your heart, my friend, I guarantee you'll find at least some cholesterol.

"We come and we go": except he never leaves, always there, 30 years of those same two notes in every song. And he even makes us believe otherwise—so, when the hell are you actually going, Liga?

"Screaming at the sky": Fantozzi was already doing that, you're late.

"A life as a midfielder": a thesis on humility. I’m a midfielder, not a striker, not a creative playmaker, don’t expect flashes of genius from me. I can at best offer some mediocre musical banality. Did you really need to tell us? Everyone already knew.

"Everybody wants to travel first class": depends. Seats on Italo are uncomfortable.

"It'll be a nice souvenir": I hate souvenir shops. You know what I mean? Mini gondolas in snow globes, the Duomo that snows if you spin it, a stylized Colosseum, the shopkeeper who never gives you a receipt. You get the picture?

"Bambolina e barracuda": hope the barracuda eats you alive.

"Forever": that’s a threat. Even Don Vito Corleone wouldn’t dare so much.

"Women know": listen to the song, but really carefully. Then you can tell me what the hell women are supposed to know, since the song never says. Lying title, shame you.

"My thought": mine is, why did I "embark" on this venture? But I have strong ethical principles, so I press on (you do as you wish).

"Light": this 7-CD brick is anything but light—especially the price (on Ebay, I swear, someone sells it for 290 euro).

"When you sing your song": well, usually under the shower. But quietly, because if my neighbor hears me he’ll report me (but he likes Al Bano, so maybe I should report him, I’ll think about it).

"Spread your love around": done that. Let’s move on.

"Certain nights": a song which, as the excellent Iside would say, definitely belongs among those killed by endless, grinding replays. Iside, I rely on you and your divine wisdom.

"I lost the words": you can imagine me.

"Happy Hour": the apericena, aperitif and all that nonsense never appealed to me. But honestly, just to stop listening to Liga, I’d go out for two spritzes with Nordio (he’d have a couple more).

"I want to want": once upon a time we’d say "it's forbidden to forbid". Good times.

"What you aren’t": what you aren’t is—you. You’re the guy who ran out of inspiration after four albums; what you aren’t is Dylan, Cohen, De André, Fossati. What you shouldn’t do is exactly what you’ve already done: record Gaber’s monologue "Qualcuno era comunista" or "rape" "Creuza de ma" at Sanremo. I’m begging you, on my knees.

"There's always a song": yours, unfortunately.

"Not our time": you said that in 1990. It’s 2026 now, I’d say you did have time, after all.

"G as in Jungle": oh, back to kindergarten. A for Apple, B for Banana, C for Cat. Liga in full anal phase (I mean Freudian, of course).

"You got a moment, God?": if lightning hasn’t struck you yet, the answer is clearly no.

"Under bombing": look, if you go to some "quiet" zones of the globe, like Lebanon, they might even prefer bombings to your songs. Obviously, I’m joking.

"Tough guys have two hearts": and me, by the third CD, two balls this swollen.

"Between stage and reality": what stage? This is all too real, unfortunately.

"I put away": I’ve put away some things, you Liga? Nothing? Here’s some advice (unsolicited but useful): put away your desire to sing.

"You were beautiful": this song never WAS and ISN’T beautiful. Another misleading title.

"Sitting by the ditch": sit right at the edge, I mean, right at the edge. You get it, right?

"I’ll get used to it": yeah, after forty or so songs, I’ve gotten used to it. I’m so zen now I could even buy a house near Campovolo just to watch your live shows for free from my balcony. Used to it, yes, but not paying for it, no.

".A shot to the soul": not to the heart?

"When it’s your turn": sucks to be you.

"On my road": find another road, my friend. You’ll thank me.

"Bar Mario": delightful place "packed" with odd guests: there’s Primo Whisky, nomen omen; the village idiot, a certain Putignani who works the anvil; Amerigo, a never-employed 50-year-old theorizing about the world and politics from the barstool; Pieruccio Fonte, known as the latin lover of the geriatric ward (which he attends as a patient). There’s a varied humanity, including the corpse of Mario displayed at the entrance because Mario passed away 12 years ago after listening to this song one too many times.

"The salt of the earth": "we're the captain who bows, we’re the girl in the middle of the bow". Oh, it’s called a “bow” now?

"Little star without sky": aaah loser (as Nelson would say).

"The day of days": could also be the dinner of all dinners, the wedding of all weddings, the ass of all asses. You know, when song titles can be “flipped” at will because they never made sense to begin with.

"The sound barrier": watch out for the wall when you’re on your road—just saying.

"No fear": no, we’re just on CD four and I’m already having visions like Fantozzi when he saw the Saints rising over the football field’s gate.

"Certain women shine": fireflies?

"We are who we are": eh, 'nu strun... nah, otherwise I get sued.

"Alive, dead or X": but what’s x for? Purgatory? Imagine Dante asking Virgil: “Where do we go now, O great Virgil, after seeing the stars at the exit of Hell?” “We go to X.” At the very least, Dante would’ve run away or invented the soccer pool lottery.

"I’m here for love": no, dear Liga, you’re here to bust our pelotas.

"All roads lead to you": happens when your GPS goes haywire.

"Let's save our skin!!!": too late, I should’ve stopped 5 CDs ago.

"You were always there": god Liga, enough with the threats, this is already the sixth. Look, I’ll call Pelù and he’ll tear you to shreds.

"The best is yet to come": think about the worst.

"Still standing": yeah, and I wonder how that’s even possible. Listen Liga, don’t mock though.

"I feel you": a sad realization.

"I have only you": now, let’s not exaggerate, Liga. I have friends too, not just you. Otherwise I’d have been dead for years (and maybe ended up in X, who knows?).

"The weight of the suitcase": depends, Ita is pretty strict, Ryanair less so. Oh, but the song isn’t about flights? Oh, about a girl leaving her hometown with just a suitcase? "La ragazza con la valigia" by Zurlini, of course. Not a reference to that movie? Ah Ligabue, do whatever you want.

"At least I believe": lucky you, I lost hope and faith with the first song.

"The center of the world": alright, now you’re Jules Verne, cut it out.

"The thin line": yes, Liga, you nailed it this time. There’s a thin line between telling you to go to hell and telling you to fuck off—you choose, I’m fine with both.

"Everyone calls me Riko": not even "glionito"

"Now and then": how should I know, by now I have a mixed feeling of vertigo and nervous tics. Excuse me, I’ll step out for a second and grab a coffee.

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I'm back.

"Let’s dance on the world": my grandma really liked dancing, not sure if on the world, but she went to the ballroom. The ballroom was called "Mondo Ballo" so I’d guess she also danced on the world. I don't like dancing, anyway these taralli I’m eating are great.

"You are her": oh, Madonna. What clever insight, our Liga must be a master of brains. Just think: I am me, who would've guessed?

"Marlon Brando is always him": see above.

"Goodnight Italy": at least she gets to go to sleep.

"Stardust": "...Ma 'ndo Hawaii se la banana non ce l'hai?" Great Albertone. Which has nothing to do with this song, but at least we get to say something clever in this long-winded thing?

"It’s always dreams that shape the world": and it's always food that shapes shit, did you know?

"Libera nos a malo": accusative, dative, ablative, then... I don’t remember anymore

"Made in Italy": a nationalist song? Did Liga go right-wing? The sly fox. Looks like between Pozzolo and Borghezio, Generalissimo Vannacci also enrolled the troubadour of Correggio (poor Togliatti!).

"The zoo is here": and so?

"I managed to get a future (that wasn’t only for me)": lucky you, switching to the right pays off, you know what, maybe I should...

"Love matters": maybe, anything’s possible, but these taralli are really good.

"Rock’n’roll dreams": hey Liga, when did you ever play rock? And by the way, the only real dream here is that the 6 CDs are done. And I’m not dead. I’m just a bit X.